Abidjan, Côte d'Ivoire — February 2025
The heat was dry and humming in the air, clinging to the glass towers and yellow taxis of Plateau, Abidjan's business district. Inside one of the highest buildings — the headquarters of a leading tech-telecom conglomerate — a young woman walked down the corridor, heels clicking with assurance.
Ami Diabaté.
Thirty-one years old. Strategic partnerships manager. Respected, efficient, brilliant.
Her braided hair was tied into a high bun. She wore a tailored beige suit with gold accents, her tablet tucked under one arm, her badge clipped neatly to her jacket. Everyone greeted her with a nod. Some with admiration. Others with slight fear.
"Madame Diabaté, le DG voudrait vous voir dans son bureau."
"J'arrive," she replied, her tone calm but firm.
She entered the large glass office overlooking the lagoon.
"Ami," said her director. "We've just signed a deal with a Korean partner. You're going there for one month. A training exchange. Seoul."
Ami froze.
"Seoul?" she repeated. "As in… South Korea?"
"Yes. It's all arranged. You leave next week."
She tried to protest — her projects, her routines, her family here. But something in her chest stirred.
A strange pull.
A whisper beneath her ribs.
⸻
Later that week — Friday night
"Girl, if you're going to Asia for a month, you're partying with us before!" shouted Binta, her best friend.
Ami rolled her eyes, laughing, as they stepped into a nightclub in Zone 4. Music pounded through the air — afrobeat, amapiano, voices singing in French and Nouchi.
She let go for the first time in weeks.
Danced.
Smiled.
Sweated.
And then she saw him.
Arnold.
Tall, well-groomed, confident. Son of a minister. Known for always being where the music was loudest and the glasses fullest.
Their eyes met.
He smiled. She smirked.
Game on.
⸻
Three weeks later — Private residence, Cocody
"I want to show you something," Arnold said.
He took Ami to his father's villa, where a small personal museum had been installed in the basement — masks, ancient tomes, old photographs, royal weapons. At the far end, under a glass dome, sat an unusual crown.
Carved from bronze, but lined with strange blue gems. African in shape, yet… foreign in its detailing.
"C'est quoi ça ?" Ami asked.
"No one knows. It was found in 1892 during an excavation. Some say it belonged to a legendary queen."
"Let me try it!" she laughed.
Before he could stop her, she lifted the dome and placed the crown on her head.
"Look at me," she joked. "I'm a queen."
Arnold laughed. But then…
The lights flickered.
The room chilled.
Ami swayed.
Her eyes widened — and for a second, they weren't hers.
⸻
That night — 3:11 a.m.
Ami woke up in terror, sweat pouring from her skin, her heart racing.
She had seen a battlefield.
She had seen a man in red.
She had screamed a name she did not know.
"Nalya…" she whispered, not understanding why.